


Loafing About

by marginaliana



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF
Genre: CHM Santa 2019, Christmas, Food, M/M, the 70s sure were a time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22039768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: Jeremy said stupid things about party themes. Andy, of course, took them in the most annoying way possible.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond/James May
Kudos: 11





	Loafing About

"This was a mistake," Jeremy said, which was not a sentence that came out of his mouth very often. He meant it, which happened even less frequently, and James probably would have twitted him about it if he hadn't agreed so very strongly with the sentiment.

The tables at the end of the room were being spread with food for the annual Grand Tour Christmas party. They had already been bedecked with paper tablecloths, green and white streamers, and a profusion of plastic mistletoe. Now the catering company was bringing out platters full of crisps and dip, a pineapple with cheese skewered onto it, miniature glasses of shrimp cocktail, bowls of olives, bowls of… something that wasn't olives… grapes set in a jello mold shaped like a penis – you could get anything on the internet these days, James supposed – and then, at the end… 

"What _is_ that?" said Richard.

"Ah, Hammond, your relative youth has betrayed you once again. Behold!" Jeremy waved his hands in a gesture not unlike an orchestra conductor having a seizure. James bit back a grin. "The _sandwich loaf_."

It was, James had to admit, a stunning example of the genre. It had been slathered in nearly a centimeter of cream cheese which had been whipped into curls along the top edges, and it was decorated with slices of olive and hard-boiled egg.

"What d'you think is in it?" James asked, leaning forward slightly to peer at it. He could feel the others on either side of him, which was probably going to be the only positive of the evening.

"Well, it's got olives on top, so olive nut spread is a dead cert," said Jeremy.

"Go for the obvious, why don't you?" said James. He nudged Jeremy's shoulder with his own. "Ten quid says it's got deviled ham as well. With pickle relish."

"I'll take that bet," said Jeremy. "Even Andy wouldn't be that cruel."

All three of them paused. That was how they'd got here in the first place; Jeremy's big mouth and Andy's gleeful cruelty. 

The words 'a good old-fashioned party' had been said. And 'none of this modern avocado toast nonsense.' And then, from Andy, 'Well, if you're sure.'

He'd interpreted the request in his own way – namely, the most irritating way. Which appeared to be an entire party themed around the 70s. James was expecting that later he might be asked to wear a hand-knitted jumper with a tinsel reindeer on it. Or play Twister.

"I'll still take that bet," said Jeremy at last. "And trade you my own – shrimp salad with egg."

"Ugh. There's already plenty of shrimp out here, thanks," Richard said, wrinkling his nose in an expression that was truly adorable. James would have kissed him if they hadn't been in public.

"Oh, to have the ignorance of the young," he said instead. "There's no such thing as plenty of shrimp, Hammond, not in the era of the sandwich loaf."

" _None_ would be plenty for me."

"Go tell that to Delia Smith."

"Isn't she dead?"

Jeremy gave a dramatic gasp. "Bite your tongue, Hammond! Delia's an institution. She could no more die than Santa Claus. The Grim Reaper would merely bow upon meeting her and present her with a hand-made kipper patê on a silver platter." James couldn't help but laugh at this. "Also," Jeremy added, "she has a mobile app now."

James turned to look at him full on in horror; out of the corner of his eye he could see that Richard appeared to be doing the same. 

"Please tell me you're not trying to cook," said Richard. 

"Why not? I could learn."

"Jez," said James. "I sincerely would rather eat that sandwich loaf than anything that came out of your kitchen."

"Even with shrimp salad?"

"Please stop saying that word," said Richard. "It's giving me hives."

"Which one?" said James meanly.

" _You_ know."

"I really don't think I do," James said. Beside him, Jeremy was biting his lip, obviously trying to hold back laughter. "Could it perhaps be 'shrimp?'" James added, with exaggerated innocence.

"Yes!" said Richard. "Yes, yes it is, so _please_ stop talking about it. You know how I feel about fish."

"It's not really fish, though," said Jeremy. " _Shrimp_. More of a crustacean, right, James?"

"That's true," James said solemnly, "in a technical sense. Well done for that expert knowledge, Jez. Still, for eating I think we can categorize _shrimp_ as seafood and that's more or less equivalent to fish."

"That's really too bad," said Jeremy. "I do like _shrimp_."

"Ugh!" said Richard. 

"Maybe we should ditch this nightmare horror and go have proper _shrimp_ somewhere else," said James.

"I'm going to kill you," Richard said evenly. "No, worse. I'll let you live, but neither of you will get to have sex with me."

"What if we stop saying it and just make it your new safeword?" said Jeremy.

"Never have sex with me _ever_ ," Richard said.

"All right, all right," James said, ceding the argument. "Maybe we really _should_ make our escape now. Before Andy breaks out the fried bananas."

Both Richard and Jeremy made faces at that, but as the three of them moved in unison towards the door, the solid frame of Head Torturer Wilman appeared within its frame.

"Shit," said Jeremy. "Too late."

James grimaced, but he didn't argue. "Sandwich loaf it is, then."

"Ugh," said Richard. "Pass. I can survive on olives."

Jeremy caught James' eye. "What'll it take for you to have some?"

"Not possible."

"No, really, what will it take?"

Richard seemed to catch on at last, and he hummed. "You know that thing we talked about last week?"

"Oh, Christ," said Jeremy. "Not that."

"You said what will it take."

"Yes, but I didn't mean— all right, I did mean sexy things, but I didn't mean _that_."

Across the room, Andy cleared his throat. "Good evening, all!" he said, loud enough to catch everyone's attention. "And welcome to the Grand Tour holiday party. As you can see, we have a fine selection of food and drink, and in addition, this year I thought we'd try a few party games."

"Oh fuck no," said Jeremy. "I'm not playing 'Pin the Spoiler on the Ferrari' or whatever the fuck he's come up with."

"You see," Andy continued, "you all have Mr. Clarkson to thank for tonight's party theme, and since he's such a _genius_ I thought we'd work it into an episode for next series. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I present you with… the pet rock challenge. Whoever decorates the one that looks most like Jezza wins a prize."

All eyes turned to their corner of the room. James took a deliberate step away from Jeremy. 

"Oh, cheers," Jeremy said. "Traitor."

"Come on, Hammond," said James. "Let's go. I bet there will be a reasonable approximation of my Gran's eggnog, and that should have enough rum in it to keep us going until the slavering horde dissipates."

A significant portion of the crew had picked up rocks and markers and were already descending upon Jeremy. At least it was better than the last time people had approached Jeremy with rocks. Still, James wasn't going to stick around to see what came next.

"Sandwich loaf," he said to Richard. "You do that and I'll do the thing, and Jezza can come later. Much later."

"Oi!" said Jeremy, but Richard just made a rude gesture and James said, "Put a little tinsel on your tree, Jez," and ran for it.


End file.
